Laundry Prose

I have a first grader who is as moody as a teenage girl. In the days leading up to the first day of school, I kept thinking there was no way he would walk into that classroom, with a new teacher, new classmates, going for a whole day. He just won't do it. I prepared myself for a battle.

Last night, suffering under the oppression of a cripplingly fierce headache, I realized he didn't have any clean clothes to wear to his first day of school. He's hard on his clothes, so they get tossed in the dirty laundry pretty quickly. My laundry oversight meant I had to gather his things and throw them in with a load I had forgotten to put into the dryer (I mean, I forgot really well. I think it must have been a couple days they were sitting in the washing maching), along with half a bottle of white vinegar and some detergent.

Later, after I had climbed wearily into bed and lay there for a while, hashing through some stuff on my mind and trying to fall asleep, I heard the machine beep. I groaned.

"What?" asked Husband, who was sitting up and reading with the light on.
"The washing machine beeped. That means it's unbalanced." I sat up and my head throbbed despite the pain killers I had taken earlier.
"Stay there. I'll take care of it," said Husband, and I gratefully sank back in under the covers. I had opened the window earlier because it was so cool outside, and the air in the room was pleasantly chilly, which soothed my head somewhat.

From the laundry room, there came the sounds of Husband sloshing heavy, wet towels and shirts and pants around in an effort to make the machine balance enough to spin and complete the cycle. He closed the lid and the locks shot home with an audible snick. As the drone of spinning drums began, I quit listening and nestled into my pillow.

Husband came back into the room and retrieved his book. All was silent for a time except for the hum of the washer. Then it beeped again.

"I don't know what else to do," said Husband. So I got up and staggered into the laundry room, muttering curses at Murphy and his stupid law. "dC, dC, dC," flashed the machine display. I tried to remember what that actually stood for as I opened the lid and shoved wet clothing around. After I had started the cycle again, I stayed, leaning over the machine and resting my head on my arms, waiting to see if the cycle would finish. I thought about things. Life. Chaos and order. The unexpected occurrences that happen in an ordinary day. How much my head hurt.

The machine beeped again. I fixed it. And fixed it again. The third time, as I draped myself over the washer to rest my head and close my eyes, I prayed. "Please let it work this time. I'm so tired." I thought about my prayers and how I have faith that my big questions will be answered but that my little questions are not worthy. How many times had I scoffed at myself for saying a prayer that I could find something I'd misplaced, or that a baby would just fall asleep finally, or that the washing machine would finish its cycle so I could go back to bed? I tried to feel that place in my heart that opens to faith, even to the hope of faith. "Please let the washer finish. Thou knowest what's in my heart. Please help me." The drums began spinning, but this time, instead of immediately slowing down, they continued. Water gurgled out of the washer, through the pipes. I waited still, unmoving as my body vibrated with the busily humming machine. I smiled. My heart felt full, and not because my little question about the washer was answered. Or not only because of that. The warmth of a god's love for his creation spread through me, answering the questions of my heart that I had not voiced. Finally, I pushed myself upright and walked back down the hall to my room. Husband was still reading. I climbed into my beautifully soft bed with a happy sigh.

"You got it working?" asked Husband, surprised. "Okay, I'll make sure the stuff gets in the dryer."
"Thank you," I mumbled through my hair. "I love you."
"Good night. I love you, too."
I slept.

This morning, Joseph surprised me. He was anxious for his first day and accepted the clean, dry jeans and underwear I gave him, although I had also washed other pants in case he needed a choice. He even went into his classroom after only a moment's hesitation and found his desk. He was sitting there quietly, backpack still on, staring straight ahead and covering for his nervousness when I exited the room. Cute little guy.